24 January 2015

The Poopy

I
am weary and baffled.

I
am also bleeding.

Weariness
and bafflement are common states for any expatriate living in Singapore - but
this week has been particularly tiring and strange.

Whilst
walking into my condominium this evening I heard the now all-too-familiar roar
of a Harley Davidson soft tail motorcycle approaching behind me – then a squeal
of rubber on the driveway as my deranged Danish neighbour Jens screeched to a
halt.

As
I turned to confront my maniacal nemesis, I was unsurprised to see his crazy
grin leaking through his unkempt beard.

For
a man of such a large girth he has surprisingly little teeth.

“Hoopy New Year skeepy
modderfokker” the Dane roared.

The
spell check function on my Mac unfortunately does not accept lunatic Danish-English
and it is most annoying having to manually correct the utterings of the Dane.

“Hoopy New Year to you crazy
one” I replied.

“Can you please turn off the
bike so I can hear you properly and so I do not choke on the disgusting fumes?”

“Ya ya”
the flaky Scandinavian retorted.

Then
he gave the bike a couple of loud revs and he tossed back his head and he
roared “modderfokker” once again.

The
man is nuts.

As
is usually the case when Jens appears – the two security guards of my complex -
the Sikhs Raj and Raj emerged from their hut.

Both
snapped me very smart salutes – which am unable to stop – and in perfect synch
stated, “Good be evening to you Mr. Peter
sir”

“At ease and good be evening to
you Raj and Raj” I replied.

I
have found that commanding the Raj to stand at ease is the only way to stop
them from saluting. They would otherwise stand at a stiff attention all day.

Jens
visibly cringed and looked sheepish at the Raj arrival. Whilst he routinely
roars “modderfokkers” at them as he arrives and leaves our building – he is
acutely aware that both Raj are extremely protective of me and will not
hesitate to assault him at my command.The Dane is a very big, unpredictable and slovenly unit – however both
Raj are also very large men who are ex Indian military boys and who have been
trained to kill.

A
couple of years ago – after a confrontation with the Scandinavian crazy one, I
asked one of the Raj to shoot Jens for me. He replied that he could not do so
immediately - as he did not have a gun – but he informed me that he would be
happy to beat him with a stick. Jens looked most panic stricken at this turn of
events and even moreso when I suggested that a steel rod would be preferable
than a simple stick.

I
should advise that I had to instruct the Raj not to beat Jens after all but he
is now aware that I have the capacity to order his demise.

At
a whim.

“The Danelander has something
that is being moving in his pocket,” one of
the Raj informed me.

To
my surprise I saw that there was in fact something wriggling in Jens pocket.

“Ya ya dat is my poopy”
Jens grinned.

“Your poopy Jens?”

“Ya ya”
he repeated.

As
he reached into his battered leather jacket both Raj visibly tensed.

As
did I.

The
mere mention of the word ‘poopy’ rang alarm bells.

Nearly
3 years ago a very large floater was found in our condominium swimming pool.

By
floater I mean a poo.

A
piece of shit.

A
turd.

I
was there and witnessed the discovery of the floater. I was heading down for my
normal morning swim and found the entire swimming pool cordoned off and half a
dozen policemen in attendance together with the Building manager of my complex
– Mr Tan.

The
police had managed to push the offending object against the wall of the pool
and were proceeding to photograph it from every conceivable angle. Mr Tan was
looking most anxious – as he often is actually – and when I enquired what all
the fuss was about he told me that ‘a most terrible thing had happened’

I
agreed that it was a most terrible thing.

Despite
the cordon that had been set up I went and had a closer look and commented to
both the police and Mr Tan that it appeared to be a very large turd indeed and
I suggested that it was from both an adult and a meat eater.

There
were nods of agreement.

I
was a relatively new tenant at the time and had yet to formally meet the
lunatic Jens - however I had witnessed his drunken debauchery and he frequently
snarled at me and made disgusting guttural noises when I passed him in the
lobby.

I
would also occasionally see him passed out drunk poolside.

He
seemed like an obvious potential culprit so I suggested to both Mr Tan and the
police officers present that they should look to him as the offender. I
suggested this only semi seriously but the officialdom actually interviewed the
Dane who maintained a furious denial.

Unfortunately
Jens became aware that I was his accuser and we became instant enemies.

Despite
my demand that DNA analyses be conducted on the faeces and the Dane be kept
under constant surveillance – no one was ever charged for the offence. Like
many offences in Singapore – shitting-in-a-pool is punishable by multiple
lashings with a cane, incarceration for a decade, death by firing squad – and
then setting on fire.

So
too is stealing a chicken.

I
remain convinced that Jens is the culprit of this heinous offence.

So
when the Dane said he had a poopy in his pocket my first thought was one of
excrement.

“You have not got a piece of
shit in your pocket do you Jens?” I enquired of the Dane.

“Ya ya”
he replied.

Whilst
“ya ya” translates into “yes yes” in English – I discovered long
ago that “ya ya’ is something Jens
says in response to many things.

Both
the Raj and I retreated a step as Jens stepped of his bike and put his large
mitt into his pocket.

To
my great surprise he pulled out what I at first thought was a rodent of some
type.